


Timeless Memories

by MatchaMochi



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Inspired by the ad Forget Me Not, M/M, Mental Illness, Pillowtalk: Angst Edition, Soulmates, Suicide Attempt, Time Travel, Unreliable Narrator, Yuuri's happy songs are actually sad songs, snapshots of meetings old and young, those thai insurance ads man....
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-11-14 18:00:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11213298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MatchaMochi/pseuds/MatchaMochi
Summary: What is reality and what is a dream?Reality is the sound of blades as it cuts the ice, dreams are soft voices that has no faces.What is reality and what is a dream?Reality. A place with an anchor, solid and steady. Dreams. Where he wanders and where he could get lost in.….or is it the other way around?What is reality and what is a dream?Does it really matter?Reality only ever felt like a dream come true when he was with Yuuri.(or, in which Viktor dreams and pines quietly)





	Timeless Memories

 

_However much we_

_Love and love_

_The world tears apart the moon_

_and we cry, inconsolably_

_Don’t break, o’ chains_

_of emotion_

_tied to my heart_

_Not until I breathe my last breath_

_-Bergamot Girl [Harufuri]-_

-

It’s the height of summer when he first meets Yuuri.

He’s running, laughing, and he has leaves in his hair and dirt at the sleeves of his jacket because even in the height of summer the rare, cool breeze of autumn snakes up to you and blows its shards at your face. Viktor’s mother has given up on chasing him through the woods and had went in the cottage they rented for the holiday to prepare her sons favourite porridge.

Viktor remembers lamenting the absence of his dead father that had left them the year before. He also remembers the bouncing, noisy, soft fur of excitement that was his Makkachin, the puppy his mother had gifted him the month after his father’s accident.

The soft ray of sunlight at his cheeks, the joyful barking of his very own puppy as its bounds through the trees, the boy with silver hair that shines in the sun, not far behind it, chasing its silhouette of brown fur and the trail of paw prints his dog leaves behind. The canopy of trees, up, up above them, sheltering him and making him so happy his mother had decided to stay here for his seventh birthday. And,

And the sound of sadness, soft and low.

Viktor slows down, face scrunching in confusion as the crying gets louder. Cocks his head to the side when he swears he can hear a man sobbing right beside him. He gulps, steps to the side. Makkachin’s shadow leaving his sight just as the thought of her leaves his mind.

A hunched figure is crying quietly behind one of the many tall trees. He does not know why his heart runs a few paces ahead as he approaches them. Does not know why he doesn’t feel fear as he licks his lips and reaches his hands out to touch the man’s hand. Once he does though, he feels the sharp breeze his mother had warned him about like icicles striking his face, blowing wind making his hair fly out as he tried to cover his ears with the sudden onslaught.

Viktor lets out a huge breath of relief once it stops, not realising that he had held his breath in the first place. He inhales cold air, exhales shakily. Blinks a few times. Sniffles. He feels like crying but the sound itself is still carrying through the air. He looks up and thinks,

‘ _I’m…. dreaming.’_

Because the roof of leaves above him is gone, the grass underneath replaced with fine carpet.

Viktor is in a hotel room and he has no idea why the man hugging his knees to his chest beside the bed is crying. It’s warm too, he notes. But maybe that was just the hand he has on the man’s much larger ones. To his surprise, the man sniffs, turns his hand over and squeezes his though he still doesn’t look up.

“Thank,” his voice is soft and thick with tears, “you,” that one is an even softer exhale.

He thinks nothing of it as he moves closer, tiny shoulders brushing at the man arms. He tries to peek at the man’s face but the only thing he sees is messy dark hair and the pale skin of his hands. Viktor thinks, ‘ _Why is he crying?’_ the thought that had been sitting in his head since.

He is shocked when the man raises his head and faces Viktor. Finds that his breath is gone again when he meets red rimmed eyes and a wobbly lip. Tear stained cheeks glistening in the soft yellow lights and deep brown pools that softens when it sees Viktor gaping at him.

A moment passes, a minute, five minutes, before the man blinks, puzzled.

“You…. don’t remember me….”

And Viktor is _more_ confused. For how can he know anyone that he had dreamt in his sleep? He tries to say something but the man suddenly turns to face him, legs unfolding and presses on after squeezing his hand softly,

“…. but I remember you.”

The man lets his hands go and Viktor feels disappointed at the loss of warmth. He points to himself and says, “Yuuri. Katsuki Yuuri.” Then he points at him with a small smile, “Viktor. Viktor Nikiforov.”

Viktor smiles too, wants to make this unknown stranger smile more but then he sees wet patches at the ends of Yuuri’s black jacket and tries again,

” Why are you crying?”

Yuuri grimaces at that. Viktor is young and naïve so he doesn’t think twice before he pushes on,

“Yuuri?” the way he says it, struggling to pull the letters together makes it unnecessarily longer,

And Yuuri sighs before he shakes his head,

“It’s- Its nothing.” A pause, “ I….. had a dog. Like, like your Makkachin? Except he was much smaller. There,” Viktor sees him swallow. Up and down. “There was a truck, and. And he couldn’t get away in time so,” Yuuri’s eyes are getting wet again, “So.”

Viktor is so, so young, his blue eyes are wide. It stares at Yuuri with curiosity,

“So?”

Yuuri laughs wetly, hangs his head to the side.

“So he died.”

There is that silence again, one which sits heavily between them cut open only by the air conditioner whirring in the room.

When Viktor finally speaks up, his voice is tiny and nervous, he clenches his hands together as he looks up at Yuuri,

“So he’s…gone?”

Gone like the sound of the phone hitting the ground and his mother’s pale face, gone like the coffin and his black suit and the quiet, desperate tears of his mother. Like the gravestone with his father’s name on it towering over him every time they visit.

Yuuri leans over the bed and presses his cheeks on the white bedsheet,

“Yeah.” A sigh of finality.

Yuuri’s eyes flutters shut and stays closed even when a few tears leak out.

Viktor does not know when he started crying himself. Except its nothing like the soft, quiet tears of Katsuki Yuuri, or the desperate cries of his mother, nor his sobs in front of his father’s room. No, this is one he has never let out before, too ashamed by the eyes of relatives and even his own mother. Viktor wails out a sorrowful call, not unlike a firstborn, but nothing like a normal tantrum.

He cries and cries even when Yuuri pulls him closer, tucks his face at his chest and cries in his hair.

He closes his eyes, sniffs wetly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

And when he opens them, Makkachin will be staring down at him quietly. Nosing his wet cheeks and whimpering. His mother will call him down from the cottage, telling him that it’s time to eat lunch. Viktor will be there, walking slowly with Makkachin, his shoulders light. As if a great weight from the year before had lifted. If only just a little.

He says, ‘ _Thank you,’_ to his mother when she hands out his lunch but he’s surprised when she gives him an odd look and says,

‘ _What?’_

_‘I said….thank you mama!’_

She will shake her head and murmur,

‘ _Could have sworn I heard another language…’_

_-_

_-_

He’s eleven when he meets Yuuri for the second time, thirteen for his third, and sixteen for Yuuri’s first.

-

It’s been three days since his coach had finally allowed him to get back at the rink again. Three days since his birthday and a healed ankle from when he tried a jump that had been a little too high or perhaps a little too fast. Viktor grits his teeth after that, breathes in the winter air and beams at Yakov’s warning glare as he plans to perfect his jump.

Today, Viktor strives harder as he heads for Juniors and as he steps in the rink, skates to the middle, he feels that winter air hitting his face again. He closes his eyes, breathes deep-

‘ _Ah-‘_

-falls on the ice.

“I’m so, so, _sorry._ Are you alright? I didn’t see you there I-”

Viktor groans, getting up on his knees shakily. The figure beside him quickly grabs his arm and pulls him up. When Viktor faces him, he meets a worried face and soft brown eyes.

It’s Yuuri.

That’s what he says too, a surprised whisper and a wide-eyed stare: “ _Yuuri,”_

Imagine this; you’re seven years old and you have this dream that haunts you for years, at least, you know, until your eleven. That one dream never comes back and when you try to remember just who was in it you scratch your head and shrug because it all seemed like a movie you’ve treasured but never learned the named of its actors.

Imagine this, now; the pale skin of Yuuri’s hands, his messy dark hair, and deep brown eyes. It all comes back and he wondered why he ever forgot.

Yuuri’s hand, now closing over his doesn’t let go. Yuuri blinks, once. Smiles and says, softly,

“Viktor.”

It’s a year before they finally stop staring at each other and Yuuri finally clears his throat, tugs his hands,

“So,”

Something glints golden when Viktor holds his gloved hands around Yuuri firmly, bright against the light that pours down from the large windows overhead.

Yuuri nods to him, “Juniors?”

Viktor doesn’t bother asking him how he knows. Doesn’t ask him anything really, Yuuri does all the work.

 

“You tried to jump again, didn’t you?”

“How is Yakov doing right now?”

“Are you going to keep your hair long? I don’t mind either way but I like it like that,” (he laughs quietly after that, Viktor doesn’t miss the red that paints his cheeks,)

“Is Makkachin still a puppy?”

 

And it goes on. They skate lazily around the empty rink like this, Yuuri’s quiet questions and Viktors enthusiastic replies. He only knows its morning when Yuuri comments about the fresh air. When he tries to ask him anything else though, Yuuri only squeezes his hand and purses his pink lips,

“it’s okay, you’ll find out later.”

Soon, Viktor shows him his routine for the upcoming Juniors and Yuuri comments on it honestly with fond smiles and soft reprimands.

The morning light slides down, turns into noon.

The Yuuri that stands before him now has such a stark difference from the one he met four years ago that Viktor can’t help but flush whenever he so much as brushes his fingers with Yuuri’s. He has a simple long sleeved black shirt on but Viktor holds his breath when Yuuri stretches his back and does a biellman spin for him.

 (Viktor is eleven and a month before, he had hesitated to lift his shirt up in the changing room when the handsome boy he’d seen in the rink had lifted his. A crush is a crush, and he would have told his mother about it if it wasn’t a boy. No one has told him that this was alright yet, but two years from now Viktor will kiss another boy and he wouldn’t call it an ‘accident’.)

The Yuuri before him has loose shoulders and smiles more easily, he seems years older than the one before though his physical appearance haven’t changed at all. (maybe it’s the stars in his eyes, or was it the way he looks at Viktor? Like Yuuri can find the moon in his,)

 

A breeze passes by, brushes his bangs to the side.

He looks to Yuuri and he bites his bottom lip,

“Will I meet you again?”

Yuuri only laughs at him in return, stars bursting into suns in his deep brown eyes,

“Of course!”

Viktor opens his mouth to say something else, blinks, and the empty rink blinks out of existence too.

 

 

That day, Yakov goes home with an unease in the fact that Viktor had listened to him the entire day. He doubts it’ll last long but he’ll damn well be grateful while it lasts. Viktor had also smiled until practice was over.

(and it’s not the beaming smile of an excuse, or the one plastered on his face whenever people come to stare. This one is soft and silent,)

(, like it was only for him.)

-

-

Once is a vision, twice is a coincidence, three times and then, he concludes, Yuuri becomes a pattern.

-

_-03:35-_

Viktor closes his eyes, opens them up again. Rolls over on the bed. Hugs his pillow tighter.

_-03:36-_

Viktor closes his eyes, sees the moonlight pooling on his white bedsheets from the window above when he opens his eyes again. Makkachin snores below his feet, a breeze sneaks in from the open window.

- _03:37-_

Viktor closes his eyes, opens them up again to total darkness.

No moonlight, no Makkachin, no window.

There’s just Yuuri.

Yuuri who has his head on a pillow, who’s face is just inches away from his that he can feel every exhale Yuuri takes out, brushing against his cheeks. Viktor freezes, clenches his hands and tries to get up. The moment he presses a hand on the bed though, the springs underneath makes Yuuri groan in his sleep. Viktor does not know what to do, he feels like laying back down, he feels like this dream is mocking him for how he can hear every little thing; the blood rushing at his ear, his beating heart, Yuuri as he turns his head to the side and murmurs, eyes still closed,

“……Phichit? Your bed….is at the other side…you know,”

Viktor holds his breath, thinks about the warmth Yuuri radiates by his side, even if he’d only felt it for a short while. He wants to feel it again, see if it’ll spread into his skin, flow through his veins and calm his mind.

There was a reason he was still awake at three am in the morning.

He decides to lay back down, carefully. Lays his head down beside Yuuri’s pillow and lets out a shallow breath.

“No.”

Viktor closes his eyes.

“Just Viktor.”

Soft breathing, a notification from a phone that’s charging beside the bed, the tinkling of a loose tap that makes water drip steadily in a sink. Then, a silent rustle beside him. There’s a hand reaching out to the study table up front, a click.

“Vik…tor?”

Yuuri is staring at him, eyes large behind blue rimmed glasses.

He opens his eyes, yet again, and gives up on sleep. Viktor sighs, and gets up. He shuffles to the headboard and hugs his knees together.

“Yes.”

Yuuri looks younger than the last two times Viktor met him, he notes. More volume to his cheeks and the way his glasses slips down his nose, the dark bags under his eyes, screams ‘ _student under pressure’_. But then again, what does Viktor know, he’s just thirteen.

“Oh.”

Viktor watches him blink, once, twice, then a third but Yuuri doesn’t open his eyes again after that when he lays back down on the bed. “Okay.” Yuuri whispers.

He does not know why the silence that follows them is awkward after that. He moves his leg a little, tries to get into a more comfortable position. Viktor wishes this dream would end quickly than before. He doesn’t want Yuuri to see him like this, vulnerable and weak. Viktor isn’t what he is two years before, because he wants to win this Juniors again too and how can he do that if everyone still thinks he’s the same boy as the year before? Viktor wants to change but it’s all happening _too quickly-_

“Not sleepy?”

Yuuri still has his eyes closed, though his breathing has steadied. Viktor hums in reply.

It’s that awkward silence again before Yuuri continues, “Something on your mind?”

His hair is a little longer than before, it nearly reaches his shoulders now. Viktor plays with one of its strands, twirling it on his fingers. Doesn’t answer.

Yuuri sighs, shifts his legs.

“I won’t say anything, you can tell me if you want to.”

And that was that.

 

He waits.

And waits.

Until Yuuri’s chest falls up and down in rhythm with his small breathing, until the blood stopped rushing in his ears and his heart has calmed down. It feels like eternity when Viktor lies back down on the bed and moves closer to the heat coming off from Yuuri.

He takes a breath, and finally, he speaks.

 

“I love the winter.

I don’t have to take off my gloves for practice, it’s nice to cuddle with Makkachin, and Mama makes hot chocolate for me when the nights get colder. She puts marshmallows on top, burnt ones. And chocolate chips.

I also love the way the frost makes this pretty pattern at my window, how everything turns bright and white, how the heater warms us where Mama and I sit down and talk about skating, Yakov, and- and anything really.

And I love the small lake near our house where we visit when we can. It freezes every winter and other people goes there too because it has a magnificent view and it hardens well enough that no accidents have ever happened before.

I go there every day, during winter. With or without Makkachin. With or without Mama even. I loved it so much, because I didn’t have to practice there, I could surprise people just by making a jump and they’ll be clapping to me. Stupid, right?

This winter though, after I tried to make one of those jumps I fell and no one noticed. It wasn’t that I was hurt by it or anything; maybe they thought Mama was near or didn’t want to embarrass me. But this boy, I think he was the same age as me I wasn’t sure, he came up to me and he said,

‘ _Are you alright?’_

He had this weird look on his face when I said yes, like he didn’t believe me at all.

His name was Alexei, he had dark eyes and even darker hair. He didn’t look Russian but he tells me his mother was French.

That winter, I met with him every day, and then it was nearing my birthday and he gave me these tiny flowers he picked up from the river because he couldn’t afford anything else and I kissed him when everyone else was gone from the lake.”

Yuuri’s chest rises, down and up.

“I remember everything. His lips were cold, and his face was pale. His dark eyes were wide open like it was caught up on something behind me and couldn’t move. It was night, and it was also so, so cold. I remembered wishing for Mama’s hot chocolate.

Alexei didn’t kiss me back, he said ‘ _Sorry,’_ and he ran away.

When I went back home that night, Mama asked me if I wanted any hot chocolate and I said, ‘ _No.’_

And when I close my eyes for sleep hours and hours after that, I recalled my Mama talking about one of her friend’s grandkids with a smile. I heard one of my rinkmate teasing me about this girl they thought I like. I think about kissing Alexei and I- I felt _so scared._ ”

Viktor squeezes his eyes shut, lets out a shaky breath.

“I haven’t told Mama yet. Maybe when I go to Seniors. Maybe never.

But sometimes, I close my eyes and I think about kissing Alexei and I just wished,

I,

_I wish-“_

He opens his eyes in surprise when he feels warmth at his hands and sees Yuuri’s soft browns. Yuuri squeezes his hand gently and whispers,

“ _I know.”_

 

 

- _03:38-_

Viktor closes his eyes, and sleeps.

-

_-_

_What is reality and what is a dream?_

Reality is the sound of blades as it cuts the ice, dreams are soft voices that has no faces.

_What is reality and what is a dream?_

Reality. A place with an anchor, solid and steady. Dreams. Where he wanders and where he could get lost in.

….or is it the other way around?

_What is reality and what is a dream?_

Does it really matter?

Reality only ever felt like a dream come true when he was with Yuuri.

-

Viktor is happy.

He’s sixteen, his mother is waiting for him to show his medal at home, and he has blue roses in his hair.

(He’s twenty-four, the medal he shows to his mother is accompanied with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes and he has thorns around his neck, but that’s later.)

For now, Viktor is happy, the feeling washing over him, makes his face warm and his heart light. He kisses his mother on the cheek, drinks her hot chocolate and sits by the window. The house is quiet, calming. Its Autumn, and the light from the lamp posts outside makes the trees behind it glow. An orange dripping down to yellow and then red.

The only reason Viktor isn’t out celebrating his win and his return to Russia was because he needed this. The warmth of his house, Makkachhin at his feet and his mother’s soft singing, as she potters around her makeshift garden at the back.

He closes his eyes, sinks down in the chair and relaxes. The strain of a six-hour flight makes him crave for his bed but it’s already too late for that. Instead, he shifts, takes off his hairband so he could lay back at the chair better and lets his long hair free, and when his eyes flutters shut again, he concentrates on his mother’s voice, soft and melodious,

 

_I was once a strange_

_nameless little toy,_

_Which no one came to look at_

_in the supermarket._

Viktor hums quietly in tune, the ripples of his mother’s voice and the familiar lyrics of a childhood song lulling him to sleep,

_But now, I'm Cheburashka,_

_An everyday dvornyazhka*_

_Right offers to me_

_on sight of my paw._

_I'll give you one, I'll give you one,_

_For the future of the oni-demon expedition,_

_I'll give you one if you come._

Huh?

 

_Let's go, let's go,_

_I'll go with you wherever you go,_

_I'll go as your servant,_

Viktor wakes up with a start. He feels something tugging at his leg,

 

_Well underway, well underway,_

_Let's attack the oni-demon island at once,_

_Let's smash the oni-demons on the island._

He looks down, and blinks in surprise when he sees a child staring at him back with open curiosity. The child has its chubby hands gripped tightly at the edge of his trousers, baby blue shirt and rosy cheeks making his eyes shine. Brown. The child has brown eyes. Viktor raised his eyebrows, “ _Yu-“_

“Yuuri?”

But another voice interrupts him, this one soft and questioning. His gaze snaps back from Yuuri to look at the woman sitting cross-legged beside him, a children’s book at her hands.

Viktor goes stiffs. He’d thought his dreams were private, he’d thought his dreams were only for him and Yuuri. The woman, who has chin length soft brown hair and kind eyes, sets the book down and gathers Yuuri up in her arms. ‘ _Ah,_ ’ Viktor thought silently, ‘ _It’s his Mama,”_

“What is it dear? Are you hungry?”

Yuuri’s mother doesn’t bat an eye at him at all, even when Yuuri zeroes in on Viktor sitting still on the couch and points an accusing finger at him. She gives a puzzled look at Viktor’s direction when Yuuri squeaks out,

“ _Oni!”_

She looks at Yuuri, looks back at the couch,

“.….demon?”

‘ _She can’t see me,’_ Viktor shifts, and wonders if she can hear him. Clears his throat and looks at Yuuri hesitantly,

“Hello Yuuri,”

The minute he says his name, Yuuri’s cheeks redden and he shrieks out a series of, “ _Oni! Oni! Oni!”_ while his mother sighed and kisses his forehead, “Alright alright Yuuri, you’ll help me fight them, right?”

That shuts him up. Yuuri tears his piercing gaze from Viktor and faces his mother. His bottom lip wobbles. Viktor laughs when his mother quickly shushes him, Yuuri making these quiet whimpers of “ _mmmhhhmmm”_ which no doubt was the obvious signs of an impending outcry. She kisses his nose and pulls him tight to her chest, murmuring all the way, “It’s okay, it’s okay Yuuri, my dear. I’ll fight them for you, there’s nothing to worry about, hush dear, no demons are going to hurt you while I’m here…”

‘ _I’ll chase them away for you darling, no monster will come for you tonight,’_

A memory from long time ago, pulled out from the recesses of his mind, just as Yuuri quiets down as his mother rocks him back and forth.

Viktor looks down, rubs his chest quietly. He hasn’t exactly forgotten his own mother, right? The blinding flashes of cameras, the roar of an applause, the ice at his feet, the adrenaline in his veins, the flowers on his head. But all of that, all of that was just because he’d fell in love for the frozen lake in winter and had looked pleadingly at his mother asking, ‘ _Can I?’_ and she didn’t skip a beat as she smiles at him with _love_ and murmurs,

_‘Of course,’_

A girl’s voice rings out suddenly, made all three of them look at the corridor,

“Mom! Dads on the phone, said he wants to ask something about the Onsen!”

She sighs again, though she gives Yuuri a soft smile when she sets him down. Viktor feels sympathy for her, remembers how his mother had managed everything when his father died, remembers her smile that never faltered whenever he came running back to her.

“Maybe we can play next time dear, I must go,”

Viktor, struck with a sudden idea, gets off the couch, and crouches next to Yuuri, smiles placatingly when Yuuri looks at him back with apprehension.

“Yuuri,” he whispers, though it’s not like Yuuri’s mother can hear him anyway.

“Say ‘Thank you’ to your Mama, Yuuri.”

Yuuri stares at him with a frown, confused.

“Thank. You.” He whispers again, and points to Yuuri’s mother,

Yuuri blinks, stares at Viktor, stares at his mother. He sucks on his thumb.

“No, you have to-“

But Yuuri takes out his thumb out with a pop and warbles out the thanks, just as his mother was getting up to leave. She stops, for a moment. Stares at Yuuri in shock before leaning down and giving him a tight hug and kissing his hair,

“Anytime dear,”

And she leaves.

They both stare at her back disappearing. Viktor smiles at Yuuri, ruffles his soft hair,

“You have a great mother, Yuuri.”

Yuuri doesn’t say anything, he still stares at him like Viktor could jump at him at any second. Yuuri reaches a hand out, slowly, and he pats at Viktor’s arm.

“….oni?” he whispers out.

Viktor laughs, shakes his head.

“No no, not Oni.”

Yuuri pouts at that. But then he brightens and suddenly tugs at Viktors sleeves,

“Momo…..Momotaro?!”

Viktor shakes his head again. He raises his arms, points at Yuuri’s forehead,

“Yuuri.” Viktor laughs quietly when Yuuri follows his finger, getting a little cross-eyed

Then he points to himself,

“Viktor.”

Yuuri cocks his head to the side,

“Bik….to….”

Viktor shrugs. Close enough.

Yuuri beams at him, “Bikto! Bikto!”

 

Their time goes by like that, Viktor and Yuuri on the green carpet of what he assumes was their living room. Yuuri soon, gets over his nervousness of him and climbs onto his lap. He tugs on Viktor’s long hair and when Viktor laughs, Yuuri beams in return. They play with the toys scattered around on the carpet and when Viktor tells Yuuri to gather them up in a neat pile again, Yuuri tugs at his hair and whispers, “ _Thank you, bikto,”_

Viktor looks at Yuuri, _really_ looks at him. Soft dark hair, chubby cheeks and deep brown pools. He remembers Yuuri with shadows under his eyes, Yuuri with tear-stained cheeks. Viktor ruffles Yuuri’s hair again and smiles, hopes it reaches his eyes,

“It’s nothing Yuuri.”

He lets down his hand,

“I’ll meet you again, I promise.”

 

 

He opens his eye on the couch and leans back.

His mother sings quietly, her voice melodious.

-

-

_Beep!_

_‘Hello Mama, It’s Viktor. I know it’s late at home and you’re probably sleeping but….I just want to say that. That I love you and the if I win the Grand Prix tomorrow it’s also because of you Mama. Goodnight, and Makka says hi!’_

_-_

Viktor is seventeen, stumbling on Yuuri making dinner that smells heavenly, winter licking the windows outside and a third meal placed just as he gasped awake from the floor. He gapes, hands fumbling for the seatbelt which should have been at his waist when he was in the airplane. Yuuri laughs (a light, twinkling thing,) and gestures to the chair across from him.

‘ _Come eat,’_

_‘You…you knew I was coming,’_

It’s not a question and they both know it.

Yuuri only offers him a small smile and Viktor takes it, his stomach grumbling when he tries to pry more out of Yuuri. They laugh and he finally sits down on the table. (There’s three meals on the table and a gold ring around Yuuri’s finger. He doesn’t say anything about it, wonders if he could ever be the husband in this domestic bliss of a dream. Especially when Yuuri smirks and looks at him with a glint when he mentions about past relationships.)

 

Viktor is eighteen, playing with Yuuri at the playground, shrieks of delight when he drops a bunch of leaves on Yuuri’s head and he loves how there’s leaves stuck at his hair and the red stains his cheeks.

 

Viktor is nineteen, sitting quietly beside Yuuri sleeping on a large king-sized bed, sprawled, blankets pushed over and drooling. He’s naked, the sunshine from the high windows touches his skin softly, making it glow gold. (Like the ring that shines from his hand,)

Whoever thought dreams could be so beautiful?

The rush of water from the bathroom behind them abruptly stops. He hears the door opening and the quiet murmur of Yuuri’s name in a voice that sounded vaguely familiar before he blinks and he’s back at his apartment, Makkachin snuggling at his feet.

It comes in random flashes and in each time he comes out of it, he’s left with a sense of loss he can’t control. He starts to want to, contemplates how the rules are in these phenomenal visions that visits him twice or once a year.

 

Viktor is twenty, stranded in the middle of a dancing studio with Yuuri at the back. It’s a ballet class, Yuuri looking like he’s in his early teens, patches of sweat at his clothes, a determined look at his face. And so, this is what Viktor compiles when the vision ends with Yuuri tripping when he finally spies Viktor staring at him with an encouraging smile;

\- It lasts a minute, in real life. But could end whenever, when he’s with Yuuri.

\- No one else but Yuuri can see or hear him.

\- Somehow, he knows the people in his dreams speaks another language and also, somehow, he understands it.

\- He can interact with the things in his visions (and that makes him falter, is it really a dream?), but his state of being returns once his visions ends, like when he was seventeen and the taste of beef stroganoff leaves his tongue, (and that makes him sigh, for how can it all be anything but a dream?)

\- Yuuri is never in one constant age. He’s either younger or older than him.

\- It comes randomly, now seemingly occurring for once a year.

And lastly, every time it ends Viktor feels mild disappointment washing over him as he blinks back.

 

-

-

_Beep!_

_‘Hello Mama! Yakov said I can’t get out tonight but I’ll try to buy something for you anyway- don’t tell him! The place here is beautiful Mama, I’ll send you pictures once the competitions is over. Goodnight!’_

_-_

Twenty, when he gets out of a shower after the heated looks, sensitive skin, breathless laugh and bed springing from under them from him and a Korean skater in the women division. He rubs a towel at his neck, still naked, turns back to close the shower and is suddenly face to face with a very, very naked Yuuri, hands on his head and shampoo in his hair.

They freeze, steam from the hot water pelting down making the door of the shower foggy. It’s a second after where Viktor opens his mouth to say his name but Yuuri _screams_ any possible replies out his mouth. Yuuri scrambles back, flushing a dark, striking red from his ears all the way to his chest. And lower.

“Phichit! _Phichit get the towels- “_ he screeches, horrified and red all over from the water and, Viktor assumes, from the way he’s staring down at Yuuri. (Those _thighs,)_

He steps back right when someone outside shouts back at Yuuri. Viktor blinks and the bathroom is empty.

An hour later, the skater ( _Jae Eun,_ she’s three years older and was very kind to him in bed) asks him why he was laughing in the toilet that morning. He shakes his head and tells her that it was just a message from an old friend. She pauses, stares at him for a moment and smiles ruefully,

“Must have been a very good friend then. I haven’t seen you smile like that at all.”

‘ _I haven’t seen you smile like that with me,’_

Viktor wants to apologise to her but she shrugs and shakes her head. Tells him that this was only just a onetime thing and that she’s happy for him, really.

She is so very kind.

-

-

_Beep!_

_“Mama, my flights due tonight please wait for me, “_

_-_

Yuuri is fifteen, curled up on himself, back shivering from the cold walls of the bathroom. Viktor is twenty-one staring at the open tap. In the sink, the water rises and rises, some of it spilling out. A puddle forms under it, growing bigger, creeping quietly to Yuuri’s feet.

Inhale, exhale. Yuuri’s breathing is shallow and quick, his face pale, his hands shake.

Viktor is silent. He slowly, slowly huddles beside Yuuri. Yuuri’s breath hitches when he reaches out to touch his shoulder. He gulps, puts his clammy hands on Viktor’s and squeezes.

Inhale, exhale. Yuuri’s breathing is steadier, his tears come down when he shut his eyes like he tried to keep them in but didn’t succeed, his hands still shake. And Viktor stays, holding on to his hand, not knowing what else to do. He tries to open his mouth but Yuuri curls in deeper at the sight so he chooses to keep silent instead.

The puddle grows, touches the tip of Yuuri’s toes.

Viktor blinks and it is gone.

-

-

_PLAYLIST_

  * _SP_
  * _FS_
  * _SONGS_
    * _HAPPY SONGS_
      * _LWD – HATSUNE MIKU [YANAGA MIYUKI]_



_晴れ渡る今日の気持ちを_

_忘れないように書き留めよう_

_ああ　感動が消えていく_

_薄暗い毎日だって_

_好きな歌で彩るけど_

_ない、ない、ないよ_

_昨日の情熱が_

_I’ll write down my feelings from today_

_So I won’t forget how clear it was..._

_Ah… the emotion’s fizzling away..._

_I colour in even my dim everyday_

_With my favourite songs but_

_it’s nowhere, nowhere, nowhere to be found;_

_All the enthusiasm I had yesterday_

 

_憂鬱と喜びの中を_

_私はね_ _まだ生き足りないよ_

_You see, I haven’t had quite enough, of living_

_In the midst of depression and joy_

_-_

_-_

Twenty-two and he doesn’t see Yuuri at all.

-

-

_‘Mama, tonight looks very beautiful than other nights. I don’t know why, is it the full moon? Or is it the trees? How the stars shine? I’ll show it to you soon Mama, Chris has got me addicted to Intsagram. I’m not sure if I should thank him, my phone’s battery hasn’t last that long ever since…. ‘_

_‘……’_

_‘Goodnight Mama.’_

_-_

The next year there are explosions; blue, green, red, yellow, pink. Viktor gasps in awe. A second before, he was turning in for the night, exhausted and desperately in need for a good night’s rest after his Worlds. But now the night was beautiful, noisy and _alive,_ fireworks painting the black canvas of the night sky with colourful brushstrokes.

He looks around and he notices the wet grass he was sitting on, the people scattered about wearing colourful patterned clothes, the bright lanterns hanging above the noisy stalls where the aroma of foodstuff wafts around.

“Viktor.”

He jumps, startled and looks up.

It’s Yuuri, looking down at him with fondness. There are lines on his face where there haven’t been before. Middle-aged Yuuri taps the top of his head and smiles, (Viktor watches the sun rising in his eyes again and he _aches_ ) Yuuri is also wearing the patterned clothing everyone else was wearing, like those Kimonos Japanese women wear. He finds that it suits Yuuri, rich blue waves hanging on to his sleeves. It’s otherworldly, Yuuri looks like a man from another era. Truly, this is what they meant by aging gracefully.

He gestures for Viktor to follow him with the fan that he’d tapped Viktor with,

“Come on now, I’m sure you wouldn’t want to miss the festival.”

Viktor brightens, despite everything. (Despite the gnawing silence in his apartment, devoid of any life but him and Makkachin, despite the worried looks from Yakov every time he lectures Viktor about drinking out late, despite the easily crafted smile he gives out in interviews and to reporters and despite how he loves the ice but never knew the ice could make him feel so lonely in return,) He beams at Yuuri, and Yuuri chuckles, taking Viktor’s hands, laces their fingers together. Viktor tries not to think about the cool metal against his skin, the ring around Yuuri’s finger glints adamantly at him in return.

“I wouldn’t want to lose you in the crowd,” Yuuri says, but he says it softly, almost _lovingly_ and Viktor- he doesn’t know how to handle that at all. His ears heat up and he prays that Yuuri wouldn’t notice he’d gone red in the face. 

It comes to no avail however. He is staring at the back of Yuuri’s head (there’s an earring hanging at his left ear, it’s blue and shining. Exquisite. And he is not talking about the earring) as he buys the both takoyaki and passes one of it to Viktor. His mouth waters at the smell but before he could even get one in his mouth he feels Yuuri’s knuckles brush his cheek. Viktor stares at him, wide-eyed, mouth open midway from eating,

“You can’t hide from me Nikiforov,”

 Yuuri lets out a playful smile, pinches his cheek when the takoyaki drops back to the plastic plate, Viktor gapes at him, his ears red again. He snaps out of it when Yuuri laughs at him and he gives out a whine, “Yuuuuuuri, you’re older, you’re not being fair at all.”

He pouts so Yuuri relents, “Ah, maybe you’re right about that. _Much_ too old for your antics that’s for sure,”

Viktor is pulled along the crowd before he can figure out anything about that sentence and he soon forgets it as he tries to catch goldfishes with Yuuri, taste a ridiculously spicy curry, and crows in happiness when Yuuri wins him a fluffy blue stuffed toy poodle in a shooting booth. Viktor is a ball of energy and excitement, exclaiming about the creepy masks on display, the foods and sweets, the games, and talking to Yuuri rapidly as if he’s scared that when he runs out of words Yuuri would run away too.

( _“Yuuri, are you tired already? Even Yakov in his late thirties had more energy!”_

_“Oh Viktor, I’m already in my fifties. So, slow down now,”_

_“Wait what-“ )_

Another conversation, though this one is hushed and cautious,

( _“Yuuri…..isn’t uh…your partner with you?”_

_A laugh, then a reassuring pat on his shoulder,_

_“He’s busy, though he’s very upset he couldn’t join me right now. I had a hunch why he let me go off alone when I saw you though,”_

_Viktor doesn’t know what to parse from that, besides the fact that Yuuri has a husband, though admittedly it could be because he was distracted by the twinkle in Yuuri’s eyes,_ )

It’s the best night of his life, though it lasted only a minute.

The last thing he sees is Yuuri, incandescent, blue and shining.

-

_PLAYLIST_

  * _SP_
  * _FS_
  * _SONGS_
    * _HAPPY SONGS_
      * _YOUTOPIA – ARMIN BAN VUUREN FT. OWL CITY_



_From the moonlight_

_Through the cherry trees_

_Open the roof and take in the view_

_'Cuz you're my sweetest dream_

_Come true_

_Colour the dusk, deep navy blue_

_And try to be brave_

_Cause I'll be right beside you_

_There's a world so high_

_Hold out your hands_

_And you can go anywhere_

_So reach for the stars_

_Cause I'll be waiting up there_

_And you can finally fly_

_Cause you'll be lighter than air_

_-_

_-_

Twenty-four and Viktor is drowning, dark and silent, gold medals crowding around his neck pulling him down, strangling him and making his blades run red with blood in freezing waters.

-

-

 

‘ _Good morning Mama, I’m going to practice today even though Yakov told me to rest. I already thought of a choreography for next season, it’s going to be great.’_

_‘.’_

_‘…...Mama, it’s going to be great but sometimes I wished it doesn’t.’_

_-_

Viktor sleeps with one Richard Chekhov, at twenty-five. He has dark hair and darker eyes, skates with intensity and sharpness, has dimples on his cheeks and was very commanding in bed. Viktor doesn’t care. When the man pushes him to the edge, thrusting in him with a force that makes the headboard creak in complain, Viktor stares at the ceiling, his eyes empty.

 

Reach in, climax, stroke and bite, it doesn’t do a thing. He is hollow inside and out.

 

He squeezes his eyes shut, digs his nails down Chekhov’s back. Imagines the colour of melting chocolate, wanting it to drown him whole.

 

-

-

 ‘ _Mama, have you ever felt tired?’_

_‘The kind that drags down your bone and muscle. The kind that tells you to keep moving because it’s the only thing you know how to. The one that has you closing your eyes, and not want to open them back again.’_

_‘Mama, have you ever felt like that?’_

_‘……’_

_‘…..I’m sorry, Mama.’_

_‘I can’t do this anymore.’_

_-_

_-_

The sun rises just as fast as it sets. The new year greets him with red, orange and yellow. Viktor shields his eyes from the sun’s rays, and when he lowers his hand from his eyes, he’s not outside the apartment anymore.

 

Its late afternoon where Yuuri’s at, Viktor had been just ready to go out for his morning run with Makkachin. The sun is setting, making long shadows at the wooden strip of flooring of the veranda. Viktor creeps back, sits in the shadows when he sees Yuuri laying down with someone else.

 

She’s older than Yuuri, where Yuuri was probably around ten, the other was likely in her teens. Dyed hair with dark roots, she has a hand on a snack, and her legs laid out not unlike a person who takes up space just by emitting an aura that she _owns it_ in the first place. Yuuri, in contrast, is huddled near her arms, trying to take as much less space as possible. A small yip coming out from Yuuri’s stomach makes him notice the small poodle nuzzling him. Yuuri strokes the brown fur slowly, lost in thought. Both are staring outside, the only sound accompanying them is the wind and the ‘ _crunch crunch’_ the both makes as they munch on the snack.

 

Yuuri breaks the silence first,

 

“Hey Mari-nee?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I…. I’m going to stop doing ballet.”

 

“Alright.”

 

There’s a pause, orange lights masking his face.

 

“Skating?” she grunts out. And Yuuri smiles quietly in response, though Viktor can’t see it.

 

“Yeah….”

 

“Hmph,” she ruffles his hair before kissing the top of his head, “Good luck then, little brother,”

 

‘ _It’s his older sister,’_ Viktor realises, and another realisation, one that makes him swallow dryly,

 

‘ _Yuuri is a skater.’_

“Mari!” Yuuri blushes as his sister laugh quietly at him, “I’m too old for any of that now!”

 

She snorts at him but stayed silent when he pouts at her, “Never.” She says. “You can grow up all you want out there, Yuuri. But here? You’re just still my brave little brother.”

 

And how ironic was that? The man of his dreams loves the ice just when Viktor was beginning to hate it. Beautiful Yuuri, how would he looked on the ice? Like a dream surely, just like this one. Bright, ethereal, sensual, charming, refreshing and so very _real._ Viktor doesn’t want to blink, he wants to live in his head. With this figure, he had imagined and desires for a reason unknown to him.

 

Twenty-six and he wants everything to end already and start with the stars blinking and the moonlight that shines on Yuuri’s soft, dark hair.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

-

-

-

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 _Twenty-seven,_ and is this a dream or is this reality?

 

He’s in Sochi, beside him, Yuri snaps at him when he looks back in shock and accidentally knocks his back. His smiles freeze just as, “ _Commemorative photo? Sure!”,_ leaves his mouth and he’s left staring back at Yuuri.

 

 And it _is_ Yuuri. Yuuri who looks back at him like a startled deer. Everything becomes white noise, he focuses on Yuuri, the blue jacket he’s wearing and the hand that tightens its hold at his luggage handle. Its ring free.

 

Viktor wants to call out to him, wants to ask him, ‘ _Did you know I was real too?’_ but before he could do any of that Yuuri turns around and runs away. Leaves him eyes wide with confusion and a pressing question that pounds in Viktors head; does he _really_ know what is reality and what is a dream anymore?

 

Yuri snaps him out of his inner turmoil, but Viktor notices him looking back at where Yuuri disappeared to and he quickly snatches Yuri’s wrist.

 

“Do you know who that was?”

 

Its expected when Yuri shrugs him off and scowls but he answers him nonetheless. Viktor frowns, thinks back, _way_ back, at the height of summer, where someone was crying in the woods.

 

-

Twenty-seven, and the night after _takes his fucking breath away._

 

(and maybe, eventually, his heart too.)

 

-

 

Champagne on his lips, the ghost feeling of warmth and adrenaline running across his skin.

 

‘ _Viktor,’_

Music in the air, a body moving with fluidity, with such grace.

 

_‘we’ve met for so many times,’_

Eyes like the sun, shines at him, for him, with such hope.

 

‘ _won’t you finally stay with me now?’_

And Viktor is _gone_ , reality and dreams doesn’t matter anymore when Yuuri hugs him and announces to the world,

 

“Be my coach, Viktor!”

-

 

Yuuri is real.

 

_Yuuri is real._

 

He can’t stop thinking about it. He sways back to his hotel room and crashes into the bed with the biggest smile on his face. Was it possible? To be this happy and afraid at the same time? (Happy because now he knows he isn’t crazy, that Yuuri is right here in the flesh, close enough to touch. Afraid because what if this was just a fluke? What if he wakes up tomorrow and Yuuri disappears like thin air?)

 

He laughs, a sudden reaction, one that takes him by surprise. He doesn’t stop, tears in his eyes and hands over his stomach. It’s like he had woke up for what felt like a very, very long sleep. Refreshed and excited. It’s like his soul felt alive again.

 

Yuuri is real, he repeats to himself. Yuuri is breathing, his heart thumps, just like his. Air goes in and out of his lungs and…..

 

It can stop too just as suddenly.

 

 

The abrupt drop in temperature shocks him like a bucket of ice-cold water. The sand underneath him too, covered with a blanket of snow. A cold breeze stabs his face with its icy shards, the sound of waves crashes around him, deafening, second only to his thundering heart and the rush of blood in his ears.

 

And right there in the middle of it all, was Yuuri. He has a white shirt on, black pants, it looks like it was part of a uniform. There was, Yuuri, wearing nothing that suits the winter weather, his figure is distant, cold and unfamiliar. The wind blows, makes his dark hair flail wildly.

 

Yuuri, who’s waist deep in sea water and who has purple bruises on his face.

 

It takes a second for him to process everything, two more for him to panic and another one for him to scramble up and sprint to where Yuuri was, walking steadily to the long horizon of the sea.

 

_“YUURI”_

He was halfway now, feet just touching the wet sand and he shudders when the freezing waters envelops him. He screams at Yuuri, but the figure only freezes for a second before it lurches forward, as if driven to the sea by an invisible siren. Viktor screams his name again, throat raw and desperate, he’s up to his chest now, but the top of Yuuri’s head is still visible.

 

“ _Yuuri-_ “he chokes when he finally reaches him, grips his wrist and grimaces at how cold his skin is. He tugs, a vice grip on Yuuri, but the other doesn’t move. Yuuri’s eyes are blank, he has his face locked on the sea, the line where it touches the sky, like he can find salvation at its waters. “Yuuri, _Yuuri_. _Please we have to get out- “_ Yuuri doesn’t react at all. He pulls and tries to move forward, shaking his head slowly.

Viktor swears before he tugs Yuuri harshly to him, forcing him to look back at Viktor, “Yuuri, _snap out of it!”_

The smell of the sea is suffocating, the icy waters that had been bitingly painful was turning numb. The roar of the sea, the cacophony of ‘ _Why?’_ and his loud breathing, everything comes to a halt when Yuuri’s breath hitches and he looks at him.

 

“ _Viktor.”_ A strangled exhale. Tears begins to leak out of his eyes, unbidden and free. He falters, collapse, into Viktors chest, “I-I….”

 

In the distance someone screams his name, distressed and panicked. It sounded like his sister.

 

“I’m _sorry,”_

Viktor tries to pull them back up again, but Yuuri burrows closer to his chest and sobs,

 

“ _I’m so sorry,”_

And he blacks out.

 

-

-

(Years and years later, they have their legs tangled together on the bed, and heads sharing one pillow. It’s a quiet night, spent making love, slowly. There was no need to rush anything, they had all the time in the world, and tomorrow, so much more. Their breathing slowed, skin losing heat.

 

An hour passes. Yuuri kisses his cheek softly and gives a brief touch to his lips. A quiet plead for silence, just this once. Viktor doesn’t say anything, kisses Yuuri’s fingers and moves closer to him. Yuuri takes a breath, then two, before he finally speaks,

 

_“I came out to my parents when I was sixteen.”_

A moment passes, Yuuri takes another shuddering breath,

 

“ _It wasn’t like everyone haven’t already known about it. I don’t know how they found out but…. A week before one of the guys in my classroom started calling me out. We haven’t even spoken together before but he acted like we were childhood friends. Takeshi warned me about him, said he was bad news so I avoided him and concentrated more on skating._

_He got frustrated, I think. He got this notion that if I were friends with him the girls would like him more, but I didn’t find out about that until later. One day he asked me if I wanted to join him and his friends to karaoke. Obviously, I said no and that I had practice._

_We just finished class, everyone was still packing to leave when he shouts out,_

_“I know your_ gay, _Katsuki. Why can’t you loosen up a bit, got something in your ass? Or are you just using ‘practice time’ for something else?”_

 

_He didn’t even sound mad. He sounded like he was teasing me, like we were in on some joke. Does he really know, or was he really just joking? I panicked. And he didn’t stop there._

_He made his friends goad me too. Told me how they knew about the way I look at one of our seniors, about the books I kept under my bed that I wouldn’t ever show anyone. Everyone was still leaving but I could feel their gaze on me and I hated it. I wanted to get away so I said yes._

_At the toilet of the karaoke place I had an anxiety attack. Took me awhile to calm down again._

_When I came back he looked pleased, smiled at me like I did something helpful and I felt like throwing up again. When we left he pushed me to the side and said to me that if I ran away from him again he’d tell everyone. I came back home crying after that._

_Mari saw me, she pushed and pushed until I gave up and told her what had happened. And I told you about Mari right? Maybe my parents knew but trusted Mari enough that they chose to look the other way when they see her talking to one of the gang members at school. It wasn’t anything really, small groups that acted rebellious and smoked at the schools’ rooftop, just that. But the thing was, Mari had connections. And she was mad, really mad._

_Especially when the rumour spread about me and after I had confessed to my parents._

_The guy from my class suddenly stopped picking on me and I was glad. I thought its finally done._

_When I got home I heard a friend of my dad talking to him at the back. He remarked about the lack of people dropping by the Onsen. Wondered why that was. Then he went on and suddenly he said he knew about me. Told my dad that maybe he should send me in a boarding school. My dad snapped back and told him to get out. I came back to my room feeling like it wouldn’t really help anyone if I started crying._

_The next day, the guy that I was so sure was done with me pulled me so hard he left a bruise at my wrist. I was trapped at the back of the school with a group of boys that were all glaring at me. Some of them had metal bats._

_They told me my sisters gang had hunted them and left them with a warning to leave me alone. I didn’t have time to react when one of them punched me in the face out of nowhere. They laughed when I didn’t do anything back and I remembered begging silently to anyone that I would just wake up and leave this nightmare._

_Then suddenly, there was others shouting from behind me. My sisters voice. Screaming, clanging, curses thrown in the air. I was in the middle of it all, just so confused. My body froze up I couldn’t breathe properly. Someone dragged me out of the fight, and all I could look at was the blood running down Mari’s forehead._

_‘This is my fault.’_

_I thought to myself. Because really, if I wasn’t what I was nothing would have happened. Mari wouldn’t have been sent to the hospital along with five other students. My parents wouldn’t have to look so_ sad _every time they see me._

_It was winter that time, right? I was still wearing my school uniform but had left the jacket. I didn’t feel cold, I just wanted to go out. The house had felt suffocating for me. I was nearing the ocean that time, when I overheard one of the old ladies from the regulars at the Onsen talking quietly with her friends when she spied me._

_She said that she heard Yuuko’s mother telling her to stay away from me, that Yuuko was better off staying with Takeshi. I didn’t hear the rest of what she had to say, it was enough. The people around me are clearly changing their view of me. Once I was only ‘Toshiya’s son’ now I’m ‘Toshiya’s gay son’. My parents wouldn’t look at me properly, Mari was still hurt and forbidden to leave her room and the two people I could still hold on to was going to leave me. And who could I have blamed it all to but myself?_

_At that point in time, the place I had lived in since I was born had never felt like a stranger to me than it was then._

_The ocean had looked so beautiful to me. Deep blue and iridescent, stretching as far as the eye can see. I didn’t think. Couldn’t._

_I just started walking.”_

Viktor is silent. When he strokes Yuuri’s cheeks, his hand is shaking slightly. He opened his mouth, an apology on the tip of his tongue before Yuuri shakes it away,

 

“ _Even if you weren’t there Viktor, Mari would’ve got me out. Its fine.”_

A sigh,

 

_“But when I saw you, you know what hit me most?_

_It suddenly hit me that I had forgotten about you, about skating. About the dance studio and Minako and Vicchan and honestly, I felt like laughing, skating was everything to me and here I was throwing it all away. “_

Viktor rasps out Yuuri’s name but he shakes his head again at Viktor in response,

 

“ _I know, I know. They made me go to therapy after Viktor, I know._

_I just,_

_I want you to know that when I finally met you I ran away because I was ashamed._

_And when you came to me after that I had never felt so happy in a long time.”)_

_-_

When Viktor wakes up in the hotel room he didn’t know what had happened after.

 

(Where Yuuri was immediately sent off to the hospital because Mari was so scared of him having hypothermia. He did have it in the end, lips blue and skin trembling feeling like it’d jump out, he sleeps with a hand clutched tightly at the hospital blanket.

 

The morning after, his cold skin burns with high fever. It’s bad, and he has to stay in the ward for a week before they’re sure he’s fine. Viktor doesn’t know how his parents had rushed in, face worried. His mother had been cooking Katsudon for Yuuri when she heard what happened, had taken it with her to the hospital and had cried holding his hands tightly.

 

 Even his father whom had seldom shown sadness by way of being strong for his family had stared at him, eyes wet. How even Minako-sensei had come by and told him that if his face wasn’t already hurt she would’ve slapped him and had proceeded to cry at his lap for half an hour.

 

Doesn’t know about how Takeshi and Yuuko had stuck to him like glue the months after that, about how when he skates Yuuko cheers for him, Takeshi smiles quietly and when he gets to the studio Minako-sensei practices with him, a mentor he treasures and often thinks he doesn’t deserve. When he gets home Vicchan greets him with a happy bark, and Mari is there, with his parents, a silent pillar of support. Skating was everything to Yuuri, but so was his friends and family.)

 

Viktor doesn’t _know_ all this, so the moment he wakes up, cold sweat running down his back, his breath hitching, he scrambles out of bed and calls in his couch. His first question was too quick for Yakov to understand so Viktor repeats it for him, hands tight on the phone,

 

“Yuuri. _Katsuki Yuuri._ The Japanese skater, is he- is he okay? I mean, I just needed to know.”

 

“….what brought this on Viktor?”

 

“ _Please_ Yakov, I need to know,”

 

Yakov sighs, “I saw him with his coach, drunk off his ass if that’s what you’re asking. And Vitya, I told you to lay off the alcohol too, right?”

 

“Yeah. Yeah, its fine I’ll wake up early for the flight tomorrow.”

 

“Good.” And there’s a ‘ _click’_ when he hangs up the phone.

 

Viktor gives out a huge sigh of relief before slumping back down on the bed. He doesn’t find sleep after that disastrous one minute but he regrets it soon after when Yuri complains beside him on the plane when starts to nod off.

-

-

-

_PLAYLIST_

  * _SP_
  * _FS_
  * _SONGS_
    * _HAPPY SONGS_
    * _SPECIAL SONGS_
      * _STAMMI VICINO, NON TE NE ANDARE_



_Questa storia che senso non ha_

_Svanirà questa notte assieme alle stelle_

_Se potessi vederti dalla speranza nascerà l’eternità_

_Stammi vicino, non te ne andare_

_Ho paura di perderti_

_This story that has no meaning_  
Will vanish tonight together with the stars  
If I could see you, eternity will be born from hope  
  
Stay close to me, don’t go away  
I’m afraid of losing you

_-_

Its months after that, in his apartment, on his sofa to be more accurate. After no dreams or contact from Yuuri, that he sees the video. He’s staring at one of his mother’s handknitted scarf when he makes the decision to go to Japan. Makkachin barks at him at the side and he smiles in reply.

“It’s good to chase your dreams, right? Makka?”

The dog licks his hand in reply and Viktor smiles.

A day later and Viktor’s heart beats with anticipation as the door in the Onsen slides open.

The rest is, as you know, history.

-

-

-

(and these are conversations that happened in between,)

 

They’re back from practice, sweaty and exhausted. Yuuri stops by Vicchan’s shrine, smiles and says:

 

_“I’m home,”_

_“…..Yuuri.”_

_“Yes?”_

_“You do that every day. I was just curious; doesn’t it disturbs you when you don’t get an answer?”_

_“Viktor,“_

_“I’ve never been that religious, you know? But well, you talk to things that can’t be seen, you always do your prayers before and after meals. So, I thought maybe you were.”_

_“Viktor, I’m not thinking that hard about every day greetings. When you eat you say, ‘Thanks for the meal’, when you get home you say, ‘I’m home’. It’s just part of the routine.”_

_“…. sorry Yuuri, I overstepped. We should-”_

_“…..I really don’t care whether or not god exists. But, there_ is _someone I want to watch over me. It’s okay, maybe it’ll never get to them. But then again, maybe it will. We’re still alive, so if we want to talk to them then might as well do it.”_

_“….”_

_“….is what Mari said anyway. I was a bit dramatic when Vicchan left.”_

_“Oh Yuuri, you can never be more dramatic than me,”_

_“Really now,”_

 And they part ways to their own bedrooms. Mouths tingling with laughter and eyes hiding fallen tears.

-

Another one, after the Cup of China and a quad flip. Hushed between sleep soft skin and fluttering curtains. Viktor buries his hands under Yuuri’s dark hair and he kisses his cheek in return. Just like that, them tangled together, kisses thrown in randomly like the exhaustion between them tried to pry them apart to no avail. Viktor whispers, desperately but hides it with nonchalance,

_“You know I’ve always wanted to do that.”_

_“…what?”_

_“Kiss you.”_

_“Viktor, come on,”_

_“Your face is all red Yuuri! But really its true, when I was eleven I skated with you and you looked so dashing-“_

_“Don’t.”_

_“….Yuuri?”_

_“Sorry…but those…visions…I, I’m not ready to talk about it yet. And maybe you’ve met the me that’s not here yet so, I. I just can’t stand the thought that I wouldn’t be who you’ve met, Viktor.”_

_“Yuuri I only care about the Yuuri that’s with me right now, you should know that.”_

_“Yes…I know. But please, if I wasn’t I’d…I-“_

_“Okay Yuuri. It’s alright.”_

_“Thank you,”_

_“Can we talk about when I met you in the showers though? Because I still remember how red you were. Were you doing something naughty Yuuri~?”_

_“NO-“_

They didn’t talk about their shared dreams at all after that. It didn’t matter, Viktor knows he’ll relieve it every time he hears Yuuri’s voice.

-

This one is quiet, a silence that was close to deadly. It’s after Moscow, and hours after the airport. A quiet admittance, but Viktor sounds almost shameful about it,

“ _I couldn’t talk to you when you were competing, so I pretended you could hear me even when I wasn’t there. I used to do that to my late mother too. Stare at my phone and pretended she could hear me.”_

_“Oh…. I’m sorry Viktor…”_

_“No need. It’s been about six years now, and she died painlessly. Yakov said it was breast cancer, but I’ve always known she hadn’t be that well. She left in the ambulance van on the way to the hospital. Even then I called her, but when I came back she was already gone.”_  


_“…. I’m here Viktor. You know that, right?_ I’m here.”

“ _I do. Don’t leave, Yuuri.”_

_“Okay.”_

_-_

Then its Barcelona, rings, tears, and a silver medal.

 

Its Yuuri and him on the ice, the shine of sweat on his face, running down his neck. Right after the pair skate Viktor licks it off and other places too. Yuuri scolds him for biting a little bit too hard at his thigh.

Then it’s Yuuri running to him with a smile brighter than the sun.

Its them in his apartment adjusting, rearranging, and living. _Living_ for real this time because now Viktor has a bigger bed in his room, a few potted plants near the window, an extra toothbrush in the toilet. He has a blue apron hanged in the kitchen, two sets of shoes, and a pair of glasses sitting on his bedside table. He has Yuuri, every day now, for practice, meals, and bed. Its warmer now, than it was ever before.

A year passes, then, another one.

There are gold and silver medals, even some bronze. There are Katsudon and Pirozhki. There are arguments and reluctant (and if a fight lasts more than a day, Yuri comes up and gives them an earful,) or quick agreements.

 

He meets Chris in a bar one night and the man gives him a wonderful idea for his (secret?) proposal to Yuuri. The night after, Yuuri chokes on his Tequila when he drinks it in one shot only to find a ring stuck in his throat. Viktor wails in despair, cries for help and sobs in relief when a woman who was sitting beside them pulls the Heimlich maneuver and possibly just saved Yuuri’s life. She introduced herself as Miss Chihoko after he made sure Yuuri was alright and they both thanked her and promised to invite her for dinner if there ever was time.

It’s a wild night.

Viktor is inconsolable once they reached home, marking his calendar for when he’ll meet Chris again and wondering if stabbing him outright was too direct. The moon shines on the bed as they showered and settled down. Then, Yuuri pats the spot at the top of his head and whispers,

“ _Viktor.”_

He turns his head and he sees Yuuri holding out something shining, golden and sitting quietly in a small black box.

( _It’s no surprise that they would propose to each other, this had happened before. Barcelona could have been anything but right now they smile, tears in their eyes and they say-)_

“Yes!”

-

-

-

-

-

-

They’re in the Bora Bora, because he’d insisted that they needed to travel around the world, (or places they haven’t been to anyway) in their honeymoon. Its morning, and he breathes in the warm blue sea. He gets out of the bed after kissing Yuuri’s hair softly and he notes the sapphire earring he’d bought for Yuuri the night before, ( _‘It’s too expensive Viktor, I can’t wear it_ all _the time,)_ sitting by the bed.

After he brushes his teeth and comes out with a bathrobe, he foregoes showering in return to waking Yuuri up and doing it together with him.

He calls out to Yuuri but his breath catches when he sees the familiar of figure of him. Sprawled, and drooling, sunshine making his skin gold. It’s a beautiful sight, other than the niggling sense of déjà vu, Viktor feels proud for all the darkening bites and bruises all over Yuuri’s body.

 

 

He remembers the too-large t-shirt he’d bought for Yuuri, slipping down one of his shoulders. The surprised yelp and the delight he felt when he bites down at the space between Yuuri’s neck and shoulder. How soft Yuuri’s cheeks felt when kissed it in apology, and, even softer; Yuuri’s lips, hot and crowded with want.

Yuuri pulls him to the bed, complains about how clothed he was and quickly fixing it as he divests him and Viktor of any clothing. They kiss, closed and open-mouthed, innocent and filthy. And Viktor goes down, laves Yuuri’s ear, nape, collarbone with his tongue. Bites and sucks on him just so he can hear his Yuuri moan softly, so he can revel in his gasps and pleasured sighs as he presses and bites at his nipples.

They weren’t in any hurry so Viktor takes his time, paying particular attention to the spaces of skin that makes Yuuri whine and claw the bedsheet, that makes his moan break with a sudden gasp.

‘ _A-ah! V-vitya…stop teasing.’_

So, he obeys, not before biting at the skin inside Yuuri’s thigh though. (That earns him a flick at his forehead, and Yuuri laughs breathlessly when he looks up and pout at him,) He works on Yuuri slowly, takes out the lube and touches his entrance tenderly before pushing in a finger, then two, and three. Making sure it’s wet and ready for him.

Yuuri is gasping, whining, arching off the bed. He clutches on Viktor’s arm pulls him down so he can chant _now,now,now_ in his ear like it’s something he’d die without. They kiss, licking up to the roof of Yuuri’s mouth and panting heavily as they pull away. Right when Yuuri licks the bridge of spit away, tongue brushing his lips, Viktor growls because he is _wrecked._

This is the picture he sees; Yuuri, the image of divinity and sin itself splayed out just for him. Dark hair wet with sweat wild on the white bedsheets, his face flush and grinning, the red running right down to his chest, hands brought up and pinned down to the bed by his own, their rings shining golden in the night. His mouth plump, bruised and red, his chest heaving, his nipples perked, and his _eyes,_ a russet red that burns hotter than the sun with love and want.

They cry in relief, _elation_ as he finally drowns and buries deep in Yuuri. And as he thrusts and makes love to him, hips snapping in desperation, he kisses Yuuri, and never looks away from him. He presses their forehead together and basks in the heat of Yuuri. Yuuri moans his name as he strokes him, and he does the same for Yuuri. Says it like a prayer, something he could cherish. As they came together, Yuuri gives a sigh and lies, pliant and sated. Kisses Viktor and passes out on the bed. He doesn’t mind. Maybe he stares at Yuuri a little longer than he should after that but he cleans them up and tucks them in together soon enough.

 

Viktor stares fondly at Yuuri now, brushing away his bangs as the other slept on. He sits beside him, the bed dipping and Yuuri mumbles in his sleep as he shifts to the side.

“ _Yuuri_ , wake up.”

Viktor gapes, confused. He wasn’t the one that said that.

He turns his head to the side, searching for the unknown voice and the hotel room turns into another totally different one.

This one is warm, cosy. The inside of a cottage if he’d take a guess. There are medals upon medals lined up on one wall, rows of photographs, colourful knick-knacks, (there are souvenirs from different countries, he sees kangaroos, durians, a croissant, the Big Ben, pandas and…. was that a blue poodle?) and letters crowded around another wall. And in the middle of it all, a bed. the sheets baby blue and its occupant blinking slowly as he drifts away from sleep. He’s an elderly, his hair grey with some dark ones still hanging on. He rises slowly, wrinkled hands closing around an arm of the man sitting beside him.

That’s when Viktor shifts his view to the side. His eyes glides over the wrinkled skin, the white-grey hair, the blue eyes. And finally, his fond smile. He gasps softly, stepping back.

‘ _It’s me.’_ He looks back at the man on the bed, _‘and that’s Yuuri.’_ How could he have not noticed? Those eyes were the same as ever, and he squeals quietly at how soft Yuuri still look.

It feels like a balloon popping.

He whirls around to the rows of photographs, scanning over Yuuri and him underneath the night stars with Yuri and every one of their friends, Yuuri and Phichit laughing over a rollercoaster, him and Chris beside them but making faces, after, it’s just rows and rows of Yuuri and him at various places smiling, laughing. Viktor notices the wrinkles growing at his face, his unfortunately receding hairline but the both couldn’t have looked any younger.

His hands shake as he sees a picture of a toddler huddled between them, and she grows; kindergarten, school, college, graduation. She has pale skin and long dark hair, and he spots a letter besides one picture of her blowing candles, ‘ _Happy Birthday Hiroko Katsuki-Nikiforov! (blame your dads for that long ass name dear,)’_ He feels lightheaded, thrown off his orbit.

Someone clears their throat and he snaps back to look at them.

His older self gazes right at him and winks. Fucking winks.

Yuuri interrupts the staring match he had with himself, his soft voice, reluctant and a tad confused.

“W-who….?”

Viktor straightens, stares at Yuuri but Yuuri wasn’t staring back at him. He’s looking at his older self. Older Viktor smiles at Yuuri, softly as you please and strokes the back of Yuuri’s hand with his thumb,

“You don’t remember me……. but I remember you.”

His voice is gravelly, and Viktor is struck again on how _old_ he is, thank god he managed to salvage his jawline.

Suddenly, their words turn into the kind of language he understands and he is left standing in shock, as the blood leaves his face. He blinks. Once, twice. But it doesn’t change anything. The older Yuuri stares at his version in this reality with confusion.

Viktor realises, with a sharp intake of breath, that Yuuri does not know who he is.

 

 

Later, he will follow his older self as him and Yuuri go through their day. Yuuri seems like he couldn’t see Viktor, but his older self is always looking back at him with amusement. As if he was in on some joke he wasn’t a part of. And he follows them numbly, tightening his bathrobe once in a while. Not bothered to feel embarrassed since no one could really see him as they went outside.

Before that though, there are the words his older-self had spoken to Yuuri when he had woken up. They don’t leave his head. Instead, the words swim through his mind, and he turns it over and over, probing it as he observes the two going through their own routine.

And the words are these:

 

“ _You don’t remember me. But I remember you._

_Your name is Yuuri. Your husband is Viktor.”_

(A picture, a portrait, a proof. Its hanged at their living room, nearly as large as their wall and just as vibrant. Viktor knows this one, he’d taken it with Yuuri right after their marriage vows. Face flushed and eyes wet, Yuri had howled at them to look at the camera not at each other. It’s a grand thing to put in your living room, he has no doubt that it was his idea. He loves it.)

_“You love dancing and skating. And dogs, and sad songs. Like the colour blue, wear size seven shoes.”_

(Hiroko was a ballet dancer. Yuuri dances with her. Another picture, Yuuri and him skating together, while at the background Yuri guides a small girl with flowers in her hair as she tries not to fall.

As the older Viktor helps Yuuri out of bed he hears distant barking that comes closer, revealing themselves to be two poodles, one of them as big as Makkachin and the other as small as Vicchan. He is introduced to Yuuri as _‘Katya’_ and _‘Yacchan’_. Yuuri smiles at them, and they lick his face happily when he scratches behind their ears.

Viktor spots a speaker sitting idly on one small table, blue sports shoes laid under it. Notes the blue bedsheets of their bed and laughs silently when he sees that Yuuri’s glasses is still just as blue. Older Viktor takes care of Yuuri tenderly, hobbles them down to the kitchen after making sure Yuuri is comfortable. )

 

_“You gain weight easily, but love to eat. You love pork cutlet bowls and hate celery. Whenever you finish eating, you’d sometimes listen to our favourite song. And we’d dance together just for the sake of it.”_

(His older self, fusses about the rice cooker and carefully lays out the two bowls of Katsudon on the table. The light outside is bright and warm, shines on the table they occupy. Its midday. When they finished eating Yuuri stares at older Viktor with a wondering look. He looks back at Yuuri and smiles softly, laying a hand on his,

‘ _Want to hear your favourite song?’_

Yuuri doesn’t know what else to say, so he just nods in reply. Viktor wanders back to the speaker, his breath is stuck in his throat when his older-self clicks on the player and _‘Stammi Vicino’_ flows out. The older man goes back to where Yuuri was and bows, holds out a hand, a figure of a gentleman asking his partner for a dance. He grins at Yuuri,

‘ _May I?’)_

_“You love stories, and rarely laugh but when you do its beautiful. You are ambitious, who also loves to share. You’re honest, and shy and often nervous. Sometimes so much it’s a while before you’d get out of bed. You always get up again in the end, because you are also strong.”_

(Yuuri says ‘ _It’s_ _fine’_ when older Viktor tries to help him reach the book placed high at the shelves lining up their little library. He succeeds in plucking the book out and Viktor doesn’t miss the satisfied smile on his face after that. The book is in Russian, unfortunately. But his husband offers to read it out to him and Yuuri blushes and laughs, (a quiet, lively, sound) when they realises it’s a book about the ways of copulation among men.

Older Viktor tries to get a new book for him but Yuuri tugs his hands away. Yuuri stares at him for good long while before he looks away,

‘ _Viktor. I can do it myself you know?’_

And his husband doesn’t falter. Only smiles and sighs,

‘ _Yes. Of course.’)_

_“You also have Alzheimer._

_We were married on the eve of spring and I still remember the promise I made to you that day._

_To stay and take care of you for the rest of your days.”_

(Viktor knows this one. His memory is not as faded and far away as the old man leading Yuuri to a familiar dance right now. On the eve of spring, he’d rented the rink close by for an entire day so they can skate when the moon is hanging and the music drowns everyone in celebration. This one was also Phichits and Chris’s idea but it wasn’t that bad.

They’d pair skated, still in their wedding suits and all, in front of their friends and families. Lost and anchored to each other at the same time. No judges, audiences that weren’t there to be impressed but to celebrate, and them, moving in sync. Yuuri grips his hands like a promise, and he kisses it to say, ‘ _Yes, we stay together from now on.’_

Now, Yuuri is aged up and slow in his movements, but so was he. They dance in quiet fragile silence, their bodies sways to the music that flows in it. Their golden rings twinkles as Yuuri is led to a soft twirl. His face is lit up, beaming in wonderment. As they face each other Viktor thought he sees something flickering in his eyes, and by the way his older self-stiffens, he seems to see it too.

Recognition flits through Yuuri’s eyes but then he gasps softly, letting go of his husband’s hands. He stares at soft browns, scrunched up in confusion,

‘ _Who...?’_

The reply is only a sigh and a soft smile.)

 

 

Its evening when Yuuri and him goes out to the front door for a short walk. The dogs are already excited and impatient, playing with each other at the open door. Yuuri’s husband kneels before him on aching knees and shakes his head when Yuuri protests.

“Its fine, I want to do this. Let me?”

He puts socks over Yuuri’s feet, slides in his blue sports shoes before lacing them.

Yuuri’s voice is quiet and polite when he asks,

“Are we taking a walk?”

He gets a quiet hum in reply. Then, Yuuri places a careful hand on top of the ones lacing his shoes together,

“W-won’t you get tired?”

Viktor holds his breath when his older-self stops. Knows he sees the question laid out for him in such a different way, it aches. Knows it’ll be like this, Yuuri forgetting and him at his side, always. Then older Viktor shakes his head, smiles one of his truly genuine ones,

“No,” squeezes Yuuri’s hands, “I don’t easily tire when the suns out, _moy_ _solnyshko.”_

It’s worth it of course. It’s always worth it when it’s just for Yuuri.

 

 

 

Viktor feels himself fading just when Yuuri falls asleep on their couch. His older self knows it too, he looks straight at him and says,

“This is the last one. You won’t get any other, after this.”

Viktor wants to say something back, but he feels a lump in his throat. Unable to voice which one he wants to know first with all these questions crowding in his head. The old man nods slowly, understanding painted in his eyes.

But Viktor is _still fading away,_ so he breaks out the one question he hopes the other would understand.

“ _Why?”_

Viktor is hurt and confused. Why him and Yuuri? Why these dreams criss-crossed between time? Why did he need to see this?

The other stares at him with a soft look and smirks, shrugs.

When he tells Viktor, Viktor finally understands why some people finds him too much to handle sometimes.

 

-

 

 

It feels like an eternity when he finally blinks back and he’s back at the hotel room. Yuuri sleeping quietly on the bad, him in his bathrobe.

Yuuri squeaks at him when he dives in and hugs him fiercely. His husband is puzzled and concerned as he runs his fingers through silver hair,

“Viktor? Viktor what’s wrong?”

He gets a loud long whine of his name buried in his neck and nothing else.

A moment passes, Yuuri sighs softly when neither of them moves from the bed. He draws slow circles at Viktor’s back. Murmuring, “It’s fine. It’s okay Viktor,” when he feels his shoulder get wet.

The phone at the bedside table has their wedding picture as its home screen.

A notification beeps, messages from Chris and Yuri.

Blue glasses sit beside it, Yuuri has been thinking of buying a new one but he loathes to buy one of another colour.

 

Outside, the sea is azure and iridescent.

Inside, the bed is warm and golden.

It may not be just then, or later.

But right now, everything is perfect.

-

-

-

_‘Why?_

_Honestly, even I’m not sure._

_His voice, his touch, his presence._

_Sears my heart like a brand._

_My soul craves him so much time itself cannot stop it._

_Destiny? Fate?_

_No…...love._

_So maybe that’s why.’_

_-FIN-_

**Author's Note:**

> *Russian word for "mutt"
> 
> Just a little something before the holiday ends :), and as always, kudos and comments are very much appreciated ! 
> 
> This was the [ad](https://youtu.be/_qtqmaIag-8) that inspired this.
> 
> And hey check out my twitter, [@crazydurians](https://twitter.com/crazydurians) I rt a lot of yoi, world stuff, memes and shit, also my tumblr, renaimori!
> 
> Thanks for reading!!


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